Chương 19: Vol 1. She Promised

Morton grunted as he settled Tahir into the sheets.

"There you are, kid," he said. The room was exactly as promised: cramped and boxy, with two narrow beds of lumpy straw, each draped in a thin blanket that smelled faintly of soap, smoke, and old firewood. It was lit by a single oil lamp that hung from a loose peg on the wall. There was a small basin and a cracked pitcher. The window did, in fact, stick. Morton could feel the room tremble slightly with the noise of the inn blow. Tahir didn't complain. He grunted. Morton smiled.

The way Tahir oh-so-cattishly curled in on himself reminded Morton of his childhood cat, Caramel. She was a good cat. She would roam around the farm, and you wouldn't see her for days, but she would always come back, ready to demand treats and pets as if she hadn't just cruelly abandoned you. Morton crouched at the end of the bed and worked off Tahir's shoes. Tahir made a small, miserable sound through clenched teeth. Morton winced.

He had known the shoes were flimsy, far flimsier than his boots, but he wasn't expecting how raw Tahir's paws were—a bright, wet-looking pink beneath the fur, and pulsating as he twitched each of his little toes. Morton was certain there was no Neosporin for at least a couple of universes. He tore a strip from the edge of the blanket and dipped it in the water. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Tahir flinched, whined, and groaned as Morton carefully cleaned his paws.

"It's okay, kid," Morton whispered, "you'll be fine." Tahir grumbled: —"I could have walked."

"Sure ya' could've," Morton said.

"I could have."

"I never said otherwise."

"You carried me, did you not?"

"Sure did, bud."

"That implies you had doubt."

"That implies you were about to fall asleep while standin' up."

"Are you taking care of me, Sir Christian?"

"Of course, kid." Tahir's ears sleepily twitched, and his eyes drooped.

"Sir Christian," he said, "I am terribly sorry for being such a burden."

"You are not a burden," Morton said soothingly. Tahir mumbled in reply.

"I have always been a burden to the family. I am useless. I am just an object of desire; I am good for nothing else."

"Don't say that, kid," Morton said. He rubbed the back of Tahir's neck, kneading his rough knuckles into Tahir's tense muscles.

"You are more than what some bastard wants from you."

"What else is a man for?" Morton frowned.

"Whatever it is you want to be. We are all humans—or, I guess, people. We all have dreams and talents and shit." Morton took a deep breath.

"I ain't great at sayin' this kinda thing"—he worked his thumb gently beneath Tahir's ear—"but where I'm from, a man can be a lotta things. Farmer. Soldier. Father. Singer. Bastard. The goddamn president… those are kinda the same thing, I reckon. Hell, sometimes all at once if he's been havin' a rough week." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Really?" Tahir mumbled.

"Yes," Morton said.

"How does that work? Are men not fundamentally weaker in certain areas of life?" Morton gave a very weak laugh.

"You sound like a certain type of person back home—though, usually it's the other way around."

"What do you mean?"

"A story for another time, kid. Gets some rest." Morton got off the bed and lay in the other. Quickly, he drifted off into slumber. That night, Tahir curled in on himself, twitching and wrinkling his nose. He was having a dream. A very bad dream. Tahir was sitting at home, Neri's old hands working through his fur. He lay back into her bosom.

The harsh tug of the brush ripping through his fur, the pungent smell of lavender oil drifting through the air, the morning light beating down on him, Neri humming a little tune as she worked on Tahir, who was both simultaneously six and fifteen and nineteen… it all felt calming. Safe. Tahir could feel his heartbeat, and his mind swirl in a melting heat. He was in utter bliss. No worries. No marriage or hiking towards that cage. He was in a cart now.

The lavender remained in the air, but he could not tell if it was coming from him or Neri, who now looked older, more decrepit, more than she ever had been. Still, Neri was calm. Collected. She still sat beside him, continuing to work through his fur, singing that song. The song became distorted. The wheels had a steady rhythm. Ca-clug. Ca-clug. Ca-clug. There was a muffled shout outside. Horses screamed. Steel was striking steel. The cart jolted in violent tremors.

Neri stopped brushing mid-stroke; the song cut off abruptly. The lavender in the air turned metallic, like iron. The warmth of the sunlight turned into a hibernal cold. Tahir could feel the rhythm of the cart become the rhythm of his heartbeat: badum, badum, badum… Brush. Brush. Brush. Wheel. Wheel. Wheel. Clang. Clang. Clang.

"I will be back in a minute."

"Stay here." Tahir's eyes twinkled in fear. The brush had become a knife, slick with crimson blood like what drenched the curtains. The walls of the cart felt wrong. Too loose. Tahir internally screamed: he could not move; his limbs were tied tightly down. Neri bent down and gently whispered in his ear,"Stay here. I will be back in a minute, I promise."

"No," he said weakly.

"Please, no, do not go, do not leave me!" Steel. A gasp. A wet sound. Silence. Laughing. Horrible, horrible laughing. The door creaked open. A bandit, a sadistic smile upon their face. They reached out and slowly began rubbing their paw near his— His mother leaned over his grandmother's bed. Tahir was a cub, a very young one, and he had never seen anything like this before: a person he knew, who was a constant in his life, decrepit, tremulous, having a hard time breathing.

This was the first time he had ever seen his mother, the stern woman she was, sob. All the same. He wondered why it would be his mother taking over the family when his uncle was older. It did not make any sense to him. And still, his grandmother… what was happening to her? Everyone told him she was ascending into the afterlife. To be with the Great Mother and Seroth. That she was blessed, in peace. But that was not how he saw it. To him, she was just gone. Just gone. Just like how Neri… How she was… How…

Tahir awoke. His fur was bristled, and his claws were deep into the blanket. The bottoms of his paws were pulsing. The oil lamp was low. His breathing was ragged. And Morton was holding onto him, looking deep into his eyes.

"Kid? Tahir. Hey. You okay, bud?" Tahir's cheeks were drenched with tears.

"She promised," he said in a whisper.

"She promised…"

"I know," Morton said soothingly.

"I know." He climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around Tahir. Tahir embraced him, pressing his muzzle into Morton's chest. It was warm. Comforting. They lay like this for a while, and— Morton sat up, pulled out his revolver, and shot. A bullet hit the wall and sent wood chunks flying everywhere. In front of him was a hooded figure, a long blade in one hand.

"Just who the hell are you?" Morton shouted.